[hider=Barrows]
[b]Name[/b]: Ben "Dead Man" Barrows

[b]Gender[/b]: Male

[b]Age[/b]: 27

[b]Rank[/b]: Private

[b]Former Regiment(s):[/b] Catachan 55th "The Hell Talons"

[b]Speciality/Role:[/b] Scout/Close quarters combat 

[b]Personal Demeanour:[/b] Barrows prefers to go by his last name, even among his peers, reserving the use of his first name to a very select few. He carries himself with the "Devil may care" attitude that the fighters of his home world are famous for. A foul mouthed fighter with a soldier's gallows sense of humour, Barrows is walking proof of the old adage that you don't know you're from a death world until you leave it. And the only time he's left a death world is on the ship rides between going to a different death world! It gave him a certain love of space travel, the whole thing feels so exotic to him. He also hopes to see a hive city one day, he's never been to a world that wasn't a jungle biome and is curious to see if these grey jungles of spires live up to their stories.   

His upbringing and probably his environment have filled Barrows with a near mad need to prove his machismo and physical prowess. Call it pride or stupidity, so long as he comes out on top then Barrows will consider himself proven right about whatever he was trying to do. That isn't to say he views himself as completely above his fellow members of the guard. Folks like the Cadians and the Alysians can't have a reputation like theirs without being able to back it up in some way but from what he's seen of them those folks always take themselves too seriously and put too much weight on doing things the proper way like there's a commissar waiting around every corner. 

That manner of small minded thinking and his tendency to try and settle every problem with his fists is probably why Barrows has been looked over for promotion every time despite his service record. He isn't a leader anyway, better serving as a squad's attack dog, being pointed at the enemy and let to talk off to kill. He isn't totally without ambition though, and sees this new assignment as a chance to play the politics game, either to make himself richer or set himself up in some fancier post. 


He doesn't hate the enemies of man. He's never met anything worth the mental energy of hating. He just kills what tries to kill him. Nor does he care about heretics since he's never knowingly met one. What he enjoys least is fighting Tyranids, they're nasty things.

[b]Description[/b]: Like most Catachan men Barrows looks more like a rippling slab of meat than a healthy human. Standing at 6'5" with muscles that seem to be straining to escape his tattoo lined skin. Barrows' broad features look like they were carved from stone that was then left out in a storm for a few years. His nose has obviously been broken more than once, his knuckles have the wear of regular use and his visible skin has a variety of scars scattered around it. (He has mixed feelings about that. Scars are a badge of pride but some have damaged his tattoos which serve as medals in their own right.)

Speaking of visible skin Barrows has a lot of it, almost like he's allergic to clothes. His wardrobe includes the usual green and mud brown vest and cargo pants of a jungle fighter and the steel toed combat boots, the soles of which have saved his life from a thousand tiny deaths. Barrows might put on a plain tank top of the chill gets annoying enough but beyond that fashion and modesty have never been a concern. The only item he'll never part with is his regiment's signature red bandana, his oath and brotherhood made real in a single scrap of fabric.

[b]History[/b]:
He is fifteen. He has survived horrors that men would think were only reserved for the warp. On other worlds he would not even be considered a man, but his own home is not so kind. This is Catachan,and he was a man the day he proved himself a survivor... as something that might be more than prey.

This does not make him special. He's one in a crowd of boys and girls who have all done the same. Some have even worked the flamers that keep jungle at bay. In front of them is a drill sergeant who's been shouting for far too long about brotherhood, duty, and how most won't live out the year. Finally he gets to the point.

"But some of you runts are about to get a chance to prove yourselves and prove me wrong." He holds up shiny pin shaped like a grinning skull. "And that one gets to lead this sorry excuse of a squad! All you have to do is show you've got what it takes to floor me."

The instructor takes up a fighting stance and Ben knows this is his chance. Full of the courage and confidence of youth he doesn't just step up, he charges. The fight is over in an instant as Ben finds himself on the ground with a knee digging into his neck.

"I'd give you credit for spirit, Boy, if that meant crap on the battlefield."

He remembers everyone laughing. He remembers that was the day he swore to never let anything make him feel weak again.

*****
He's eighteen and there's fire everywhere. The air hurts to breath and flames lick at his skin as he runs full pelt through the trees.

"What in thrones name are they doing?" Came the furious cry of of a squad mate.

"Nids have overrun points Echo and Fox!" Was the reply. "Brass must have ordered to shell them back!"

"Don't they know we're still out here?"

"You think they care?!" Barrows barked back.

Their weapons are spent, their troops outnumbered. He had never before thought that anything from beyond Catachan could master a jungle like this. The hive fleet was happy to prove him wrong 

The shells come again, shaking the earth and throwing him skyward. The air filled with the roar of flames and inhuman screams. 

He makes out its shape before his vision focuses again. A big one with purple plates and pallid flesh. It's as shaken as he is but they know eachother across the space. Barrows has nothing left but his knife, the beast needs only its claws. They look at each other, each demanding the title of predator even as the sky falls around them.

"COME ON THEN!" He roars. The beast roars. They meet as warriors of their hives.

He doesn't know how much time passes before the shelling stops and is replaced by voiced. He only knows he can't move and everything hurts.

"We got a live one here!" Someone calls and the 'Nid corpse is dragged off him. As far as it could at least, before the claws snagged on the wounds they'd made. "Is that you, Private Barrows? You did alright for yourself in all this didn't you?"

Barrows smiles through the pain and laughs so he doesn't scream. He's earned his Catachan name today... and lost something he doesn't yet understand.
*****
He's twenty six and watching. A tau convoy makes its way down a path they've cut. A couple warriors of theirs cautiously leaves the line to check on the corpse of one of their own, its white armour is strangely clean. That's because Barrows cleaned it. So that they would see. So that they would collect it. So they would move the grenade he'd lodged underneath.

BOOM!

That was signal enough. Buttons were pushed and ropes cut. Charges detonated, logs went flying and the men of Catachan rose from the mud and the trees. Advanced technology was made meaningless before dirty tactics and wild fury. 

Barrows and his squad lash out with las and blade. The entire fight passes in a bloody blur. He is older now, seasoned and sculpted into something horrible and deadly. He is a warrior, a hunter, a predator. A mad man bold enough to look on what he cannot comprehend and butcher it.

The Catachan cheer their victory until the screams come. Men fall and alien screeches echo through the trees. 

"Enemy reinforcements! It's the damn birds!"

Barrows smiles, primes his pistol and grips his knife. These ones at least could offer a challenge.
*****
[b]Equipment and Armament[/b]: Whatever mission needs and can survive the weather. He doesn't care for armour or uniform beyond his red bandana. Barrows does like to have a couple frag grenades handy if possible though. He also keeps on him his three knives.

The first is his oldest, the standard "Catachan Fang". Twenty inches of wicked steel that has seen him through thick and thin.
The second is a rugged jewel, a broken piece of a Tyranid claw. Opal purple in colour, he took it as a trophy and with some work fashioned a handle for it. It's a small dagger, easily hidden and serving as a spare when he's in a pinch.
The third is a fragile princess. He took it from one of those Tau, one he'd slaughtered with his own hands. Only a few carried these short swords so Barrows took it as a special thing and a good trophy. Its metal isn't anything special and he doesn't trust it like the others but the scabbard is damn pretty and he can always use it for eating.

[b]Miscellaneous[/b]: 
A brief aside of tattoos and their meanings.

A skull and dagger on his right shoulder, signifying five and ten years of service respectively.
A clawed paw print on his left shoulder, denoting a proven scout and tracker.
A flaming tyranid warrior skull down his left forearm, earned in combat against a hive swarm. The flames split into a twin tail as Barrows requested. 
A Catachan knife in a black circle over his heart, a parody of the Tau crest and earned for displays of skilled CQC against said xenos. 
An aquilla winged reaper holding a cup taking up most of his back, underneath it in gothic script are the words "More Tea?". This isn't related to anything military, he just wanted it.[/hider]